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Oslo Wake, defending his use of metahuman subjects before the Board of Ethics and Review, Universal Omnitech New York City. Transcript #ETH678 p. 347, 20 September 2051

Raul Pakow pulled the needle from Warren D’imato’s arm and set it on the small metal tray. Warren looked op at him, dazed. He’d come to in the operating theater, where Pakow was carrying out various preparatory procedures. Pakow was trying to tell him quickly what was going on.

“Which piece did you buy?” Warren asked.

“I purchased ‘Past Battles’ at a show of your work a year or so ago. Down in the 11 District.”

Warren’s look of confusion turned to one of distant pleasure. He was about to speak but Pakow cut him off. “That piece of stone is the only thing keeping you alive right now. Like I said, the man who owns this place has plans for you that you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares. I was blind for awhile, but not anymore. Now. I know I’ve got to try and stop this madness, but if Wake were to find out what I’ve done, there’s no telling what might happen. I’ve put my whole family at risk trying to help you. Something’s happened to him, and it gets worse everyday. He was always strange, but now he seems downright certifiable.”

Pakow looked down at Warren, whose eyes had become unfocused. “You rest now. Someone should be coming soon to help you. I make no promises, but I’ll do what I can to get you out of here.”

Pakow put the protective straps back in place, then went over to the deck on the console. Jacking into the Matrix, he followed a series of maneuvers he’d been using for almost four months, and found himself in a small drop box.

As quickly as he could, he left a message. I’ve bought us some more time, but not much. You must pick up the package within forty-eight hours, or else it will be spoiled.

Pakow didn’t bother putting a name to the message. He knew that de Vries would figure it out. Jacking out, he took one last look at Warren D’imato, and shuddered. He hoped the vampire hunter was as good as his word, because he suddenly felt as if he’d put all of his chips into one slot, and if that slot didn’t hold, he wouldn’t survive.

12

De Vries uses a variety of strategies when hunting vampires. He prefers to battle them hand-to-hand, draining blood and essence from his targets. A curious magical artifact he discovered on an Indonesian trip in 2045 is said to give him an edge in such duels, though its nature is unknown. However; in the case of an exceptionally dangerous opponent, he has been known to hire samurai with extreme capabilities-explosives and frag-lethal fire and blast results.

– 

Posted to Shadowland BBS by Doktor Freeman and the Deathcore Kid, 22 March 2055

Rachel paced her way around the living room for what seemed the thousandth time. Then she walked over to the now-overflowing ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette with a fierce jabbing motion.

Seated on the blue futon, de Vries reached into his duster and pulled out his pack of Platinum Selects, Rachel had run out of smokes almost thirty minutes ago, and they had fallen into a pattern. She would pace, gulping coffee and smoking until she’d finished her cigarette, at which time de Vries, without being asked, would give her another. Then the process would repeat while he himself continued to chain-smoke.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Rachel, if you have one more cup of coffee, I think your head might explode. That is, if your lungs don’t collapse first.”

Rachel turned to him angrily. “I do mind,” She took a deep drag of her cigarette.

De Vries laughed. “Well, it’s nice to see that you no longer have any fear of me. But you might want to consider being more polite. After all, I’m the one doing you a favor.”

There was a small beep, and De Vries looked at his wrist-phone. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” He answered the call. Rachel watched him talk quietly, expecting bad news, but suddenly his face brightened. “That is good news. You’re sure of the origin of the message? Excellent.”

He disconnected, and looked up at Rachel with a small smile. “It would appear that we’ve been given a little more time than I’d originally thought. Still, it isn’t as much as I’d have liked.”

Rachel turned toward the door again, and her frustration boiled to the surface. “Where in the hell are they? They should have been here already.”

She turned to look at de Vries, who had a faraway look in his eyes. “Your friends are very close, my dear. Very close, indeed. In fact, I’m quite impressed.”

Rachel’s forehead suddenly prickled with sweat. “What are you talking about?”

De Vries’ eyes snapped back into focus. “Your friends are most cunning. Tricky, tricky, tricky. They’ll be here in a few moments, so I suggest you have a seat. It wouldn’t do for them to get over-anxious, so why don’t you come and sit next to me?”

Rachel continued to look at him without comprehension.

“My dear,” said De Vries again. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you’re about to be treated to a sight few people not connected with the military ever get to see. So, sit down. Now.”

Almost without realizing she was doing it, Rachel crossed the room and sat down shoulder to shoulder with De Vries.

As she relaxed into the sofa cushions, the lights in the apartment seemed to dim, flickered twice, and then came back up.

Rachel jumped as the figure of Flak seemed to materialize suddenly in the center of the living room. Towering only a few steps away. Flak had changed out of his work outfit, and was now dressed in heavy camos that seemed to shift and swirl in the light, making it hard for Rachel to look at them. He wore a hood she recognized as a balaclava, even though it was pushed back upon his forehead. She could just make out the handle of a big gun strapped to Flak’s back, but near his hip, where the barrel should have been, she could see six small barrels, configured in a circle. She’d never seen anything like it, and just the sight of such a piece of hardware sent a small thrill through her.

“There won’t be any show,” said the troll, opening his hands to show they were empty.

“What the hell is going on?” said Rachel, her voice too loud in the ensuing silence.

Flak ignored her. “Mister de Vries, if that is who you are, please be so good as to remain seated, with your hands grasping your knees. It would be appreciated.”

Rachel turned to de Vries, who wore a small grin, but did as he was told.

“Now, Rachel, if you will slowly rise to your feet, and walk directly to your left.”

“Flak? What’s going on?”

“Rach, just do it.”

Rachel stood, and moved to her left as Flak said, “Very good. As you probably already know, you’re being covered from four different directions, and even though only an idiot might not be able to tell that you’re a vampire, I trust you understand that every weapon trained on you is capable of killing you. Even if you managed to dodge, or deflect the first volley, eventually one will find its mark and you’ll be yesterday’s news. Are we clear on this?”

Rachel turned her head, but she couldn’t see anyone but de Vries, herself, and Flak in the room.

De Vries laughed, a soft, deep sound that seemed to fill the room like thunder.

“Is there something about this situation that you find amusing, Deadman?” The low growl in Flak’s voice made the hair on the back of Rachel’s neck stand on end.

De Vries’ laugh died to a chuckle. “Absolutely not. I’m impressed. I thought you and your compatriots were going to put on the full pageant for us. It shows an encouraging amount of self-control for you to handle things this way.”

Rachel shook her head. “Will somebody please tell me what the frag is going on here?”